


Thirteen Months

by thegoldenkittenking (empty_cup_and_a_chipped_heart)



Series: Baby Girl [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Baby Fic, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2018-12-23 00:36:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11978418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empty_cup_and_a_chipped_heart/pseuds/thegoldenkittenking
Summary: Carol's in exile. Estranged from her family, the man she loves. Any day could be her last.The last thing she needs is a baby.Prequel to Baby Girl





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was prompted by Buttercup on Ninelives.

1st Month  
Carol wakes up with Daryl still draped around her. His face is nestled in between her neck and shoulder and one of his legs wedged between hers. Hazy memories of the night before flit across her mind-- the way he held her, like she was delicate; the careful kisses he fluttered across her collarbone; the way he filled her completely-- and a delicate blush spreads across her cheeks. Daryl’s beginning to shift behind her, snuffling against her hair. She tenses, worried what this will do to their relationship. Neither planned for this to happen, but she can’t say it wasn’t a long time coming. 

There’s a change in his breathing and his arms tighten around her. 

He’s awake. 

“Hey,” she murmurs. 

“Hey,” he murmurs back, running his hand down her arm. “You okay?”

“I’m great.” She smiles at him. “Are you?”

“‘M great too.” Daryl smiles down at her and she’s thrilled there’s no awkwardness between them. 

She leans her head against his chest, listening to his heart beat.

“Going on a run today?” she asks.

“Kinda. Stakin’ out some places to clear. Jean-- from Newberry-- said there was a Big Spot not too far.”

Carol turns to face him placing a hand on his cheek. He nuzzles into her palm, looking exactly like a content cat. 

“You makin’ breakfast?’

“Yep. Are you going to help?” she teases.

“Nah. Walk ya over though.” 

They silently agree to get ready for the day separately. Neither are embarrassed by being together, but Carol knows the incessant teasing that will come from this. People are still giving Maggie and Glenn shit. 

She isn’t keen on getting the same treatment.  
***  
They walk to breakfast together. It’s not uncommon for them to spend the morning together, so it won’t raise any suspicions, but it feels obvious. Like walking into a room together declares what they did last night. She goes out of her way to avoid him though, which she has a feeling makes them suspicious.

Carol tries to focus on the giant pot of oatmeal she’s cooking, but she can’t stop herself from checking on him every few minutes. He’s in her line of sight, waiting at one of the community tables, and every time she catches his they both blush and she giggles. Feels like a teenager all over again, enamored with her first crush. 

They eat together, elbows bumping and thighs brushing together. By the end of breakfast, Carol’s seriously considering pulling him into one of the unused cells to go another round.

Fortunately-- or unfortunately-- Carol has guard duty and Daryl has to prep his team before they head out. Before he leaves, he stops to say goodbye. 

Carol hears the door open and knows it’s him. She turns, a smile on her face. 

“Gonna go,” he mutters out as he stands in front of her. 

“Be careful.” Safety is never assured anymore and is completely out of his control. Carefulness, though, is.

“Always.” Daryl shifts and looks down at his feet. “Was wonderin’. Before I go, can I ki--”

“Yes.”

A ghost of a smile graces his lips. He leans down and gently presses his lips against hers. It’s featherlight but full of promise.

Daryl steps back, cheeks red, and sees himself out.

Carol watches him go, lingering even after his motorcycle has disappeared from view. 

2nd Month  
The acrid smell of smoke burns at her nose and her stomach turns. Watches the bodies of Karen and David go up in flames. It had to be done, they were a danger to them all. 

She can’t lose more of her family. They would have gotten sick and died. Judith’s much too small to try and fight of a virus like this. Karen and David were dead anyway. There aren’t the supplies to take care of them. It was either them or watch everyone she loves burn away before her, aflame with a fever and coughing up blood.

She takes a deep breath-- trying to calm herself-- and her stomach roils. Tries to breathe through her mouth but the stench of burning flesh creeps up into her nose and she just manages to pull down her bandana before she’s coughing up the little she’s eaten today.

Wipes her mouth off with her bandana, still nauseous, but she can’t leave.

She has to see this through.  
***  
Carol watches Rick grow smaller in her rearview mirror, a film of tears turning her vision blurry. She can’t say it’s much of a surprise-- for him to toss her out like this-- but the way he’s done it is just cruel. She thought she’s get a trial of sorts, go in front of the council and state her case. Daryl would hate her for what she’s done but she’d rather have him loathe her and alive than like her and dead. 

The best case scenario was for the Council to lock her up in the Prison somewhere, apart but still near. To be on her own-- alone-- is a personal sort of hell. The only reason she ever dated Ed in the first place was to avoid being alone. Threw away almost twenty years of her life on a man who beat her just to have companionship. 

She’d laugh if it wasn’t so fucking depressing. 

She has no one.

The thought hits her and her breath quickens. Her hands tremble where they grip the steering wheel and her vision begins to tunnel as a fresh wave of tears overcome her.

Carol stops the car in the middle of the road. Rests her head against the steering wheel, trying to calm the overwhelming panic attack. Realizes idly, with the part of her brain that has removed itself from the proceedings, she hasn’t had one since before the Turn. She’s survived hell and she hasn’t lost it once. 

But this brings her to her knees. 

She takes slow, deep breaths until she’s under control again. Swallows down the rising nausea and promises herself she’ll never cry over this again. 

This is it. This is the hand fate has dealt her and she will get through this.

She’ll survive on her own. She’ll flourish on her own. 

Even if it’s just to spite Rick.

3rd Month  
This is the third pharmacy she’s scavenged. Pharmacies were the first to be looted-- after common sense overruled the want to snag overly large TVs and bags of money. There’s always something left over though. Panic rarely makes people thorough. A bottle of hydrogen peroxide under a fallen shelf. Ibuprofen wedged in a corner. A lone chocolate bar under a display rack. 

There’s nothing left in this world that isn’t hidden.

This pharmacy seems almost untouched. No broken windows. The front door isn’t hanging by it’s hinges. Looks like the owner left for the night and locked it up tightly behind them. It’s disconcerting to see something so pristine. 

Carol knocks on the door with the butt of her pistol. Waits for the inevitable sound of growling and moaning, but deadly silence meets her. 

She pauses for a moment, brow furrowed. Finding places without any walkers is always disconcerting. Her need for supplies outweighs her concern, however, and she slowly eases open the door. The storefront may be untouched but the inside is ransacked. Shelves are leaning haphazardly against one another and broken glass litters the floor. 

Her boots crunch the glass underfoot as she creeps into the pharmacy. There may not have been any response to her knock, but that doesn’t necessarily mean there are no walkers here. 

She carefully steps over one of the downed displays and begins her hunt.

A lone bottle of of advil is placed in her bag. Followed by a crumpled bag of bandages. Then a few rolls of gauze. 

There’s very little else left. It’s been nearly picked clean, anything of use has been looted. 

Carol’s on her way out when she kicks a box, sending it skittering under a shelf. 

“Shit.” 

She get on her hands and knees, trying to avoid broken glass, and fishes out a pregnancy test.   
She reaches out to set it back on a shelf, when she pauses. Falls back on her ass, clutching the cardboard box tightly in her hands. Mind reeling as she counts back. Can’t remember when her last period was-- two- three months? 

Hadn’t worried about it. Attributed it to high anxiety and malnutrition. She hadn’t been regular the winter between the Farm and the Prison, and it wasn’t until the regular meals and safety of the Prison was she ever regular again.

It can’t possibly be-- 

Statistics are against her. Conceiving at her age is nearly impossible. Really, she shouldn’t be considering this at all. All the years she was with Ed only gave her Sophia. 

Still, she puts the pregnancy test in her backpack. The idea won’t leave her until she knows for sure.   
***  
Carol sits in front of the couch in the waiting room of the office building she’s holed up in, the pregnancy test on the coffee table in front of her. Her knees press into the lip of the table as she watches the clock.

She was surprised to find a clock that still worked. Someone must have changed the batteries right before the Turn. The second hand clicks onto the five. She takes a deep breath and grabs the test off the top of the table.

A pink little plus sign stares back at her. 

“Fuck.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warning for talk of child death and miscarriage. Not a lot and it's only in the first part of 4th Month, just in case anyone needs it.

The baby’s starting to move. 

A soft flutter against her lower belly, a constant reminder her past. Her failings as a mother. But within it is a tiny flicker of hope. Something that will inevitably crush her heart.

She went back to the prison, hoping to beg Rick to take her in. At least until the baby came, and then Carol would leave. They would never have to see her again.

But the Prison… the Prison was decimated. Destroyed and full of walkers. Maggie, Glenn, Lizzie, Mika… Daryl. All gone. No one left but her.

And this baby.

She locked herself in the car and cried. Any hope she had was destroyed. She’s on her own for this. 

Carol remembers when she found out she was pregnant with Sophia. How frightened and excited she’d been. More excited than a woman bringing a child into an abusive relationship. Thought it might fix things between her and Ed. How naive she’d been. 

Sophia’s story ended with death and she’s not too sure how this one will end. If she couldn’t protect Sophia-- who was older and more self-sufficient-- how can she assure the safety of a child who’s completely dependent on her?

She shouldn’t be so attached already. Stupid. Tries desperately not to. Tries to find the same feeling of numb detachment that she feels to almost everything else. But she can’t.   
Part of it-- this attachment-- is wrapped up in her feelings for him. He’d want this baby, once he got over his panic and fear. He’d cherish it. Love it. She can only imagine how he’d be with his own baby, always so good with Judith. 

She unscrews the top of the prenatal vitamins, shakes one out, and pops it into her mouth.   
Takes a sip of water and looks out the window in the general direction of the Prison.

Carol’s been circling the Prison for the last month, hoping to come across survivors. Someone. Anyone. 

She hasn’t seen a single soul though. She needs to move forward. Most likely everyone is dead. She’s wasting resources and time trying to find people aren’t there. 

Unfolds the map she took off the front desk of the visitor center she’s spending the night in. She could go west, to Texas. Or south, which would bring her to the coast. North, though, is DC. Out of anywhere, she expects it to still have infrastructure and maybe a form of government.

Ponders it a moment longer and then folds up the map. 

Tomorrow she heads north.  
***  
Carol’s in a little town, a few miles from the Georgia/South Carolina border. She meandered her way from Atlanta over the last three weeks. Should have taken her half the time but she somehow managed to run into every herd in the once-state of Georgia. It’s a quiet town-- a few walkers here and there-- but otherwise it’s empty. Must have fallen early and quickly.

The town has one main street with small little kitschy shops on both sides. What draws Carol’s attention is drawn to the little infant boutique. The sign in the window boasts their “all-natural organic products.” Perfect for the delicate skin of infants. 

The store is clear of walkers. She checked all the shops on her first day in town, most were clear. This one is the only one she hasn’t scavenged yet. She tried to the first day but couldn’t bring herself to even open the door. Returned three more times to hover around the front windows, too scared to go inside. It feels too real if she starts planning for it.

She wants this baby-- for herself and for him. But she isn’t sure she can lose another child. This life is short and hard. No place for an infant with only one adult. Judith managed just because there were so many people to look after her. This baby doesn’t have a chance. 

A part of her wishes she’d miscarry. She could mourn the child she never knew-- all the potential. It would be better than meeting and falling in love with them, only to have them die and her heart ripped to shreds again.

She’s pacing in front of the door again, heart pounding and her stomach sick. Feels ridiculous. A   
baby boutique is somehow more terrifying than an entire pack of walkers coming down on her. 

Yet here she is, anxious and sick. 

Finally forces herself to open the door and enter. Her fear is ending now. Steps inside as the bell jingles merrily and is assaulted by a myriad of pastels. It’s almost sickening.

She walks over to the onesies and starts to rifle through them. Needs three or four in as many sizes as she can find. She has no idea if she’ll ever find baby supplies again. Diapers and bottles are shoved on top of the onesies. Not enough, but it’s a start.

She’s about to leave when the soft toy aisle draws her in. There’s a teddy bear that reminds her of Sophia. Sophia had a bear and the two of them were inseparable, until Ed decided Sophia was too old for stuffed animals and threw them in the trash.

Ed never managed to piss her off more than he did in that moment. When Sophia was crying so hard she could barely speak and Carol was powerless to do anything. 

She picks a bunny off the shelf, turning it in her hands. It’s about the size of her palm and white with a lavender bow around it’s neck. Runs a finger around the bunny’s ear and gently places it in her bag. 

Right next to the row of bunnies is one lone blanket. It’s carefully folded and looks sinfully soft. Carol’s hands feel grimy and dirty when she picks it up off the shelf. Just as soft as she imagined and it’s pale pink in color. 

Takes the rose-colored blanket and puts in her bag. Leaves the little shop behind, bell ringing as she closes the door behind, and heads back to the little one-story house she’s living in. 

Tomorrow she’ll cross the border. 

5th Month  
She tries to live in the present. Refuses to think on the past, what she can never have back. Nostalgia is never useful and has little point in this new world. So she takes it day by day with her main motive being to keep herself and her baby alive.

In her weakest moments though-- when she’s awake well into the early hours of the morning, feeling hopeless and wallowing in self pity-- she allows herself to pretend.

Pretends Daryl’s there with her. Imagines the wonder in his eyes when he first feels the baby move. How excited and terrified he’d be with the thought of their own baby. His reassurances that nothing will happen to either of them.

It’s the grandest fantasy she’s ever had. Feels more impossible than any fantasy about leaving Ed than she ever has of finding Daryl again.

She’ll never see him again.

Tonight, as walkers growl and pound at the door, she loses herself in these thoughts. Places one protective hand on her belly as she thinks about the exact half smile he’d give her. 

 

6th Month  
The sedan lets out a groan, coughs, splutters, and then dies.

“Fuck!” She hits the steering wheel with the palm of her hand. It’s her third car in as many months. They run out of gas and she can’t siphon any off other cars. Accidentally ingesting gasoline isn’t good for a developing fetus. 

She sighs and opens the car door and slams it shut behind her. There’s a suburban neighborhood a few miles back. She could probably find a car she can hot wire.

Collects her bags from the back seat-- a backpack and a duffel. She’s sure she looks   
ridiculous-- six months pregnant and toting twenty pounds of gear around with her.

Curses Rick with every step between her car and the neighborhood. If it weren’t for him she wouldn’t be in this position. He couldn’t possibly wait for a council meeting now could he? Oh no, he had to overreact like the prick he is.

Fucking Rick.

She’s exhausted and cranky by the time she makes it back to the neighborhood. It’s teeming with walkers. Fucking typical. Looks like they had a block party or some shit while the world went to hell and managed to get turned at the same time.

Carol drops her bags in the ground, pulls out her silenced pistol, and gets to work.  
***  
Carol half throws, half drops the final walker corpse on top of the pile and wipes her hands off on her pants. She’s cleared only this street but she’s tired and running out of ammo. Not staying long anyway, no use in expending all her energy and resources.

What she needs is a car. There are a few contenders that she’ll check out tommorrow. She’ll stay the night and start north again tomorrow. Debated staying here until the baby is born but this place is too open. Not isolated enough. Anyone could stumble upon these houses and decide it’s ripe for scavenging. She won’t take the chance if they’re hostile. 

Picks her bags up again and walks down the tree-lined street until she reaches the house with blue shutters. It’s the kind of suburban home her and Ed always coveted. Most of her few decent memories with him are of driving around neighborhoods like this one. Animatedly discussing which ones they like and what they would change about the ones they don’t. The memories turn sour after those brief discussions. Ed would come to the conclusion she and Sophia were at fault-- they were the reason he wasn’t living in the lap of luxury. Carol would get a black eye and sprained wrist as a reminder of what he was sacrificing for them. 

The front door swings open to reveal a very white, open-concept home. The white is terrible but Carol likes the open rooms and high ceilings. Meanders into the also white kitchen and starts to search for food. The pantry yields a few cans of beans, pasta, and canned peaches. Pops open the lid to the peaches and takes a bite. They’re almost sickly sweet, but it’s the closest thing she has to chocolate.

Wanders into the white-carpeted living room, leaving tracks of dirt and walker blood behind her. The fireplace is a grand affair covered with family photographs. They catalogue the life of, what she assumes to be, twins ending abruptly at the age of three. 

Carol pauses in front of them. She has no photos of Sophia. Just her memories which are becoming faded and torn. And she won’t have any pictures of this baby. 

Hasn’t even really thought what it might look like. Couldn’t. Not once. 

She takes a bite of another peach, sticky syrup running down her hand, and wipes it off on her pants. She’s getting as bad as Daryl. Smiles softly to herself and lets herself think about what their baby might look like. A little boy with auburn hair and his daddy’s smile. Or a little girl with dark curls and Carol’s own snark. 

There’s a hundred thousand possibilities and she rests a hand over her swollen stomach. 

A hundred thousand possibilities and not a single one guaranteed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**7th Month**

The cold bleeds into whatever gaps in her clothing it can find, brushing against delicate skin and sending goose prickles across her body. Winter was always her favorite season, but without central heating and the ability to make hot chocolate, winter’s lost some of it’s charm. 

The roads are slick with ice, driving’s a near impossibility now. Has no way of leaving this town in southern Virginia and she figures this is as good a place as any to wait for the baby and the thaw of spring. 

The town is like so many others she’s come across. Deserted, looted, and a decent number of walkers. The only place she’s cleared is the little bookstore on main street. She’s fallen behind on her reading over the last year and she may as well catch up.

***

Her breath mists in the air and the cold bites against her nose. Shoves her hands deeper into her pockets and buries her hands further into her pockets as she trudges through the frosty woods. 

It may be smarter to stay close to town but she’s drawn to the woods. There’s something comforting in the grey, bare branches and the sharp smell of frost mixed with the damp, earthiness of decomposing leaves. It’s something he always carried with him-- the smell of the woods. 

She can only imagine his horror at the amount of noise she’s making-- tramping through the woods seven months pregnant. Hopes the cold weather will slow down any walkers who are attracted by the noise she’s making. She’s more concerned with attracting people anyway, even though she hasn’t seen a living, breathing person since-- well, fuck-- Rick. 

A twig cracks and Carol turns, pistol up near her waist. Tries to listen for any other noise over her rapid heartbeat. 

A flash of red catches her eye and a cardinal takes off and lands on a nearby tree branch. Carol slowly lowers her gun. She doesn’t reholster it though, realizing this may not have been the wisest of ideas. Her back is certainly trying to communicate that idea. A dull pain flares up from her lower back and her feet ache with every step. She should turn around but the hushed woods pull her in further. Before, she never really understood why Daryl chose to disappear into the Georgian forests for hours every day-- she only ever saw the danger lurking in every corner. Now, though, she gets it. There’s something soothing in the quiet hush of the woods and how it’s one of the few places where the faint smell of rot doesn’t permeate the air. They are untouched, outside of the hell that has become Earth.

She’s so focused on her thoughts, she doesn’t realize she’s stumbled into a clearing. Looks up in surprise to find a small white house with green shutters squatting in front of her. Overgrown rose bushes frame the front porch and an unkempt gravel driveway leads to the garage. 

Carol inspects the house for a moment, thinking. 

She’s found where she’ll stay for the next few months.

***

It’s blessedly quiet. She’s camped out in so many towns and the moans of the walkers followed her. Tries to remember the last time she slept without the white noise of the walkers and realizes it must have been at the Farm. It’s taken some time to adjust.

The little white house has been home for a week and it’s a godsend. Packed with non-perishable food items and a wood burning stove, Carol seriously considers living out the rest of her life here. It isn’t safe-- nowhere is any more-- but it’s stable. And that’s the best she can do in this world.

**8th Month**

Carol stands in front of the bedroom mirror, shirt pulled up to her breasts, exposing her swollen stomach. Runs her hands over her bare skin, following the lines of her stretch marks. With Sophia, she applied cocoa butter every day, futilely trying to rub them away. Terrified Ed would use them as more fuel for his growing rage at her, at her body. Now she doesn’t care; it’s not like anyone but her will see her naked. 

The baby kicks, stretching the skin of her stomach. Carol smiles and follows the movement with her hand. 

“It’s getting so small in there for you, isn’t it?” 

The baby gives another, softer kick and quiets. Carol remembers how badly Sophia wanted a sibling, begged for one until she was nine. Carol could never allow herself to have another child with Ed. Not with who he was. Sophia will never knew the sibling she wanted so badly. Another disappointment to add onto the ever growing pile in Carol’s life. Her memories of Sopha are fading with the passage of time, like an old photograph that’s been forgotten for too long. Can’t remember the exact shape of her smile or the way the light would shine off her eyes. She wishes she had a picture-- not only for herself but for the baby too.

Carol sighs, pulls her shirt back down, and eases her arms into a wool cardigan. 

Her memories will have to be enough for both of them. 

***

Carol’s sitting on the couch reading _Persuasion_ out loud. She used to do this when she was pregnant with Sophia and forgotten how much she enjoyed it. Had no time to even think about doing something like this, much less the ability to actually sit down and relax. 

Sets the book down on her stomach and watches the snow fall gently outside the window as the fire in the wood stove crackles away merrily. She’s struck by the sudden realization she feels… safe. 

**9th Month**

She’s prepared for the baby. Or at least as prepared as she’ll ever be. Awaits the day with dread and apprehension and impatience all mixed into one. Tries not to focus on the future and takes each day as it comes, trying to convince herself she has it together.

When the first contraction hits, she almost falls apart. 

***

She’s smaller than Sophia. Looks more delicate swaddled in a towel that completely dwarfs her, brand new and delicate. Her baby girl is fast asleep and a heavy, delightful weight in Carol’s arms. Carol’s counted her fingers and toes twice and marveled in the absolute sweet perfection her daughter is. 

She shifts the baby in her arms, trying to find a more comfortable position. Her baby girl blinks awake and yawns, awoken by the movement.

“Good morning sweetheart,” Carol murmurs, adjusting the towel to better cover her daughter. She reaches out with one of her tiny hands and grasps Carol’s finger in a firm grip. 

She still hasn’t decided on a name yet. There’s a hundred different names and so many are attached to the dead. Daryl told her once Carl offered Carol’s name for Judith, back when they thought they lost her. Can’t imagine naming her child after someone who’s gone, feels like bad luck. 

She’s flicking through names she likes when Carol remembers that long ago day at the Farm when Daryl offered her a flower in memory of her child. 

“Hello Rose.” Carol runs a gentle finger across her baby’s cheek. 

Rose lets out an unhappy cry as she roots for a nipple. Carol adjusts her shirt and the baby and, after some difficulty, Rose latches and sucks greedily. She leans back against the pillows on the bed and watches her daughter nurse, Carol’s hit with overwhelming longing. She wishes Daryl were here. With them. Wishes he’s here to hold her and the baby. Wants him there to admire their little girl and share this moment with her. 

A stray tear falls on Rose’s head. Carol brushes it gently away, trying to hold herself together, but more tears follow. 

She misses Daryl so much.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
